


B's and Q's

by TabisMouse



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-05-27 18:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6294496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TabisMouse/pseuds/TabisMouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of 00Q oneshots and drabbles. A little bit of romance, a little bit of angst.. maybe a little bit of smut?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my [Bound-in-Locks](http://bound-in-locks.tumblr.com/) Tumblr. I'm just dipping a toe into the fandom so feel free to stop by and chat or give a prompt! 
> 
> Note: I am pretty big on keeping the Drabbles to a strict 100 words. Also, these are not interconnected at all and are posted in the order I wrote them. They each stand alone though a few have prompted what I hope are future fic ideas. If any of them inspire you, please feel free to use them with credit.

Just being in his presence was becoming increasingly difficult. Q prided himself on his poker face, on serene calm that parted only for derision and sarcastic wit. But lately-

  
It was the eyes, Q decided. Their disarmingly piercing blue would knife into him, seeing right through to his core. But that wasn’t what brought the flush that crept up under Q’s collar. It was the crinkle that emerged at the corners of his eyes when they softened in recognition. It was how they sparkled as the Quartermaster began yet another diatribe to obfuscate the emotions that churned in his chest. 


	2. Chapter 2

Forgiveness was not a thing asked and yet it was given in the soft lines of Q’s eyes. Need was not a thing felt and yet it burned in the trail of Bond’s hand over hip and chest to heart. Kisses were a press of lips and tongue and yet Q could taste a bit of soul.

“I thought you had left me,” Q prayed into Bond’s skin.

“How could I ever leave?”

Love was forbidden them yet it flared as they wrapped themselves in each other, found and destroyed themselves a hundred times over before the uncaring sun rose.


	3. Chapter 3

Bond was a sensual creature. The slide of expensive fabric over his skin, the powerful roll of well-aged alcohol over his tongue, the caress of feminine hands providing exquisite pleasures: sensations to be craved, sought, cultivated. Inconsequential, well formed curves and tinkling laughter in his bed were a delight indulged by whims that subsumed a deep, powerful need to feel, to please, to connect.

Real danger called to him, taunted him. A desire for blood rushing to chest not loin, the sweet ache of heart not release.

He indulged in the facelessly feminine, momentarily obliterating his obsession with the Quartermaster.


	4. Chapter 4

"Ok, cut the yellow wire.” Q’s voice was calm, soothing. “And Bond, please be careful."

“I'll try but it's not quite just pulling a trigger, is it?” 

Q’s exasperation was sensed more than heard. There was no shake to James’s hand and yet a tremble skittered just under his skin as he positioned cutters along the yellow wire. He’d diffused many a bomb, there was no reason for the knot coiling tight in his chest.

He cut.

“Done it.”

“Well done, 007.”

Effusive joy pulsed through him. There was no reason to feel so proud at merely doing his job.


	5. Chapter 5

Q logged into his system, adrenalin surging.  _ So that was 007. _ He’d heard of the man in awed whispers. He didn’t know why he’d mocked, belittled. It wasn’t a lie that he could do more damage in his pajamas, just barely. 

Tense, he tapped into the back door in MI6’s system that had allowed one remarkable agent to hack deep enough to uncover M. The door he’d closed, marveling at its existence and falling in love with its creator: a dead man, now walking with Q’s radio, Walther and heart in his pocket. With a keystroke, he reopened the door. 


	6. Chapter 6

The light was soft gold and red, the embers of a dying day that only ever flared for the briefest of seconds yet seemed  to stretch for eternity. 

Skin. The skin under his fingertips as he cupped jaw and cheek was warm; rough with day old stubble. Hazel eyes, wide strong, consumed him. And the lips, curved sweetly, were a red that matched the sky and stoked his inner fire... but he was no poet. He bent to claim lips, possess heart- 

He woke with a start, alone in bed. Six months since leaving MI6 and still the dreams came. 


	7. First Kiss

Lips trapped mingled breaths. They pressed, tight, chest to chest. Hands, set free, trailed over arms, back, up to tangle in hair and grip in delicious agony.  _ Who kissed first? _ James, whose eyes had flashed with desire as his Quartermaster took him to task over broken equipment, bones, and skin… yet again? Or was it the man all limbs and bone and porcelain skin? The enigma who drove James mad with scathing wit, burning intellect, and a mystery that shrouded even his name.

_ Who kissed who? _ The answer evaporated into passioned sighs and desperate thrusts as self-denial fractured between them.


	8. Spectre

Standing on that bridge he knows, despite years of restraint and walls built so carefully high. He knows what love is, the drive of heart and mind and cock to consume and be consumed in the fire of another soul. He carries the burn scars etched just under his skin. He’d recognized the spectre of love when it first reared its ugly head, staring at a painting of a bloody big ship. 

He can see: blonde hair and blue eyes. He remembers: midnight hair and red, red lips. 

Standing on the bridge he makes his choice, forsaking redemption for exile.


	9. Hands

His Quartermaster slept, body a tight ball pressed into James’s side. He stroked a finger down bare shoulder, elbow, wrist. He cupped Q’s hand with his. The fingers were long and slender, beautiful in a pale, delicate way. He was painfully aware of the fine bones under skin. He could crush these hands, crush Q with the barest of spent breaths.   
  
The hand looked fragile within his. His was darker. Tanned. The skin rough from days of work and sun. Callused from weapons and use.   
  
He imagined Q typing at his work console.   
  
Two hands, stark contrast and equally deadly.


	10. Chapter 10

I could kiss you, now, standing in the empty halls of MI6's midnight wasteland.

I could brush my lips over yours, now, as you stand grinning like a child at your shiny new Walther.   
  
I could press my mouth to your brow, now, as you sit drinking, mission-high gone and ghosts haunting your eyes.   
  
I could kiss you, now, though you're thousands of miles away, a disembodied voice telling me the mission’s done, you're alive.   
  
"Q," you say when I find you standing in my flat. I cannot respond as you've pulled me tight and claimed my lips with yours.   
  



	11. Boys Are Just For Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the Prompts: Things you said that made me feel like shit; things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear. 
> 
> A little bit of angsty angst.

“Boys are just for stupid fun. I mean a warm body is a warm body. A smart, beautiful woman, on the other hand -” Bond’s voice came through the com in Q’s ear just as he slotted it in to place, a low sultry whisper. Seductive. Even as his stomach roiled, Q’s body reacted to that voice, anguish mixing with lust and leaving him sick.

He knew it had to be a lie. Bond was chatting up some girl in some stupid club. Some girl who’d must have traced the line of Bond’s sight. Q clicked to the security cameras of the club, already hacked and waiting for him. He nodded at the minion at the desk ahead of where he stood and Q pulled up the appropriate screen. Flicking through views he saw, just over the shoulder of Bond’s mark, a tall slender boy gyrating to the beat of the club. The boy was dark haired, fragile, ephemeral.

A high laugh echoed through Bond’s com. “You sure? He is quite pretty, I wouldn’t mind if you left me for him. I might leave you for him myself.”

“You could,” Bond whispered into her ear. Q watched as Bond leaned into his mark, eyes focusing in on her. “Or we could forget about him and see what we have to offer each other. I much prefer brains to beauty in my bed. Besides,” he said, trailing a finger up the mark’s exposed shoulder, “boy’s are boring.”

 _A lie_ , Q told himself, holding his breath. _He will say whatever he has to to get the job done._

“Men on the other hand?” She giggled and Bond, at his self-deprecating best, smiled. Q tried not to wretch.

He ignored the nagging voice that told him the tone of Bond’s voice had been too real. He tried to rationalize with himself but… everything between them was still too fresh, too new. Two nights in Q’s bed, driven there by lust and too many months of repressed passion, two nights of his mouth on Bond’s cock - of Bond’s fingers twining through his hair and that voice moaning his name -

They had promised to talk after Bond got back from Ibiza and Q returned from visiting his family. That terrible voice in the back of his head whispered, _well now he’s said it you won’t need to talk at all now will you, Stupid Fun._

“Is that what I am?” Q whispered to himself. On his screen Bond’s spine went taut as he slid around to lead his mark from her seat.

“So what are you doing here?” Bond said. “You’re a bit too high class for a rabble like this.”

“Good job, 007,” Q said, reining himself in tight. “The files we need should be stored in her hotel room safe.”

Crystal blue eyes bored into Q’s commandeered security camera for a fraction of a second and his stomach flopped uncomfortably.

“I just didn’t _expect_ to see a world class physicist in a Spanish nightclub,” Bond continued. “ _Vacation_?” Bond’s eyes flicked to the camera on the last word.

“Got called back in, emergency on 004’s mission,” Q explained. “Patch us back in once you’ve gotten to the safe. Try not to have too much _stupid fun_ , Bond.” Q disconnected the line, ostensibly to give Bond some privacy. It was dreadfully unprofessional, that parting barb, but Q had been unable to restrain himself.

 _God, you are so stupid,_ the voice would not leave him alone. What possibly could he have expected from Bond? How had he even dared to hope that they could have been… what… boyfriends? Partners?

Q felt a fool as he closed out of Bond’s mission window and began hacking into their mark’s hotel network.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww look, I ruined my perfect word count. Oh well. 
> 
> And yes... this is all a big misunderstanding.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this](http://67.media.tumblr.com/b5d7a7d3eb011e2faa2560d85db29140/tumblr_oa709b97Nl1vuvjqto1_400.jpg) image that scrolled past on my dash, which I had to send to Castastrphe which she, of course, rightfully identified as 10000% 00Q... and when my babe is right, she's right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: fluff, disgusting unashamed fluff, and cuteness.

“Really, Double-Oh Seven,” Q said, not looking up from his screen. This last little bit of code had been giving him fits for at least two hours. Perhaps just a line or two more-

Q blinked as a grunt pulled his attention. “Q,” Bond said.

“Yes, Bond?” Q didn’t bother to hide his peevish tone.

“You started to say something then-” Bond flicked a finger at the screen, “stopped.”

“Oh.” Q’s forehead wrinkled as he tried to remember what he’d been about to say. “Um-”

“Yes, then you proceeded to stare at that screen for about five minutes?”

“What?!” A flush began to singe the skin under Q’s collar.

Bond rotated his wrist, exquisitely crafted gold catching and sparkling in the light. “Really,” he said, looking at the watch. There was an insufferably attractive quirk to his lips. Q found it exasperating. “I am beginning to believe you don’t like me, Quartermaster.” An almost feline purr slipped into Bond’s voice. He leaned against Q’s standing desk and the scorching flush under Q’s collar became a roaring bonfire. He fought desperately to keep it from creeping to his ears. “You do like me, don’t you, Q?”

If he’d been a woman the infuriating man would be batting his eyelashes. As it was his eyes were sparkling with their trademark seductive playfulness. Q’s stomach did its obligatory flip and he squashed it down, hard, before dismissively returning his focus to the computer screen.

“I would like you much more if you’d returned your equipment intact, I’m sure,” Q said, falling back onto the dead horse that never failed to provide a target. He reached for his tea to find it, disappointingly, empty. Bond was still, maddeningly, leaning and staring. “Speaking of,” Q continued, nonchalant, “are you just now checking in?” Equilibrium was slowly settling back in as Q shrouded himself in crisp professionalism.

Bond grunted in affirmation.

“007,” Q sighed, “I read the report. That mission ended three days ago.”

“How was vacation?”

The non-sequitur pulled Q’s eyes from his screen, he shook his head, choosing to ignore it. “You should have checked in at the first available moment.”

“Circumstances,” Bond explained. “Unavoidable. It doesn’t seem you got any sun wherever you were.”

007 was like a dog with a bone. Q would have to give him something. “My holiday plans are none of your business and you are wasting my time.” There was no bite to his words and Bond’s eyes were back up to their tricks. Gritting his teeth, Q tried to make sense of the gibberish on his screen. _What bloody language is that?_

Were Q given to flights of fancy, he might be suspicious. This was the fourth late check-in for 007. If it were anyone but Bond, he’d think it was purposeful, to time his returns to ensure Q handled his checkins. But James-Bloody-Bond was notorious for being all show. Q didn’t try to delude himself that post-mission laziness meant anything. Emotional attachments were notoriously beyond Bond’s ken.

“Stay-cation, was it?” James would not quit.

“Bond,” Q snapped and James at least looked a bit contrite.

“Yes, well.”

Falling for feigned contrition, Q laughed. “Bond you are an insufferable distraction. Come, on, let’s get you checked in so I can do real work.” Q printed the equipment intake forms and stood, waiting for them to emerge.

“See, you do like me!”

Q rolled his eyes. “I like you,” he scoffed under his breath. “One would think,” Q said, addressing Bond, “you didn’t like me for all your constant attempts at sabotaging my work.”

“Aw, Q, I love you.”

Q’s world shattered and reformed in an instant. _It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just his constant flirting._ Q’s galloping heart refused to listen to reason. After all, it reasoned, Bond, for all his flirtation, had never used _those_ words before.

Disinteredness was Q’s well-proven shield. He stared through his computer screen as the printer took its sweet time. “Do you have any evidence to support such an absurd statement?” The tension in his voice undermined any boredom he’d attempted to fake.

A small clink chimed against the glass of his desk. Q looked over and his heart launched into his throat. There, gleaming against the bland white of his desk, sat the keys to Bond’s Aston Martin.

“Is that?” Q’s eyes met Bond’s and the serious look that replaced the playfulness in their blue gaze unsettled the small grasp Q had on himself. Heat surged up his neck to flush his cheeks.

“It’s there, all of it. Intact and good as new,” Bond promised, his words little more than a whispered breath.

Q licked his lips. “Well,” he croaked and swallowed, trying desperately to maintain composure. “Uh, well-”

“Would you like to check it?”

Q nodded and grasped the intake forms in one hand and the keys in the other, both grips hard enough to cause injury.

“Fancy dinner?” James asked, catching up to Q on his rush to the elevators.

“Uh-” The opening of the elevator doors saved Q from the necessity of speech. He rushed in, Bond right on his heels.

“Q.”

“Uh, yes.” Q looked anywhere but at Bond.

“Quartermaster.”

Q had to look at him, he was filling the entirety of the elevator cab. “Yes?”

“Would you like to go to dinner?” James asked. “With me?”

Nodding was the easiest thing Q had ever done. “Yes.” A tingle ran down his spine at Bond’s answering smile. “Yes, Bond, that would be lovely.”

“James,” Bond corrected. He was much too close to Q.

“James-” Q whispered but the end of the word died on James’s lips.

They missed their stop, giving quite a show when the elevator doors reopened at Q-Branch.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: E

Q always bites his lip the moment before he comes. He bites his lip and holds his breath, his whole face scrunched tight. Then there is a sigh of relief that rushes through his body just as he curls in the rhythmic convulsions that announce his climax.

James knows of nothing else so mind-numbingly beautiful, save for the whisper that follows. 

“ _James_.” His name on a shattered breath. 

The moment after is always the same, his world coalescing to a single, bright point: dark hair, flushed skin and the sliver of bright eyes just peeking from behind feathery black lashes.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Angst and implied character death

The first time James kissed a boy was in the dormitory at 13, all knobby knees and awkward hands.  
The first time he fell in love her eyes spit fire and her wit enthralled him.  
The first time fate betrayed him he held her lifeless husk in his arms.  
The last time he fell in love was while looking at The Fighting Temeraire.  
The last time he kissed a boy he held him close, fingers tangling in dark hair, heart thrumming around a single letter.  
Then he broke away and ran for the bomb, betrayed by fate one last time.


	15. Compartmentalized

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I've just mass added several chapters. Start with ch. 12 if you want all the current pudates.

There was the Quartermaster. Anchor, beacon, the voice in the darkness guiding him back home. Lodestone. There was Q, of quirked smiles and sardonic wit; the man-grown boy of childish delight at creating ever more clever means of destruction.

Then there was the passioned cries and slender frame that trembled under strong hands.

There was 007, hardened killer, broken and remade into ruthless precision.  There was Bond, suave seducer of friend and foe; body just another tool in an arsenal of destruction.

Then there was the man that ached and yearned for the completion of two bodies intertwined and sated.


End file.
